


Like Clockwork

by wartransmission



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, John is fucked up, M/M, There's character death but not really, im so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 10:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wartransmission/pseuds/wartransmission
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On his birth, John was the first thing he had seen. His blue eyes, his smile, his black hair gleaming into brown streaks under the lone light of his chamber as a golden crown lay atop his head. John had taken Dave's hands, his own hands warm with life, and placed the hilt of a shining silver sword in his grasp. "It's yours," John had spoken, voice soft, before pressing a kiss upon Dave's pale knuckles.</p><p>"You are the Knight of Time, Dave."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Clockwork

Dave is time embodied. He is not the creator, he is not death, he is not the beginning or the end. He is not the hand that weaves bodies and takes away, nor is he the mouth that breathes life into empty vessels.

He is all-seeing, the eyes of god herself as he watches over her creations.

But he is not god.

He does not know where his name had come from, nor where he was born from, nor who made him. He only is, the timekeeper, the guardian of all that lives and dies.

The chamber he had woken in is a mechanism in itself, a large towering clock wound up and set to his own time. His end is its end, and its end is his. Millenia have passed and ennui is his companion in the hollow metal chamber adorned with timepieces- his _home_. He has searched and searched for a way out, for a way to escape, yet no matter his strength or his wit, it is futile. He is not god, nor is he one of the Fates. He is only Time, and he has no hold over his own destiny.

He is the past, the present, and the future. He is the witness to all, yet he has not the voice or the power to change anything. He can only watch.

He sees all, and he remembers all.

On his birth, John was the first thing he had seen. His blue eyes, his smile, his black hair gleaming into brown streaks under the lone light of his chamber as a golden crown lay atop his head. John had taken Dave's hands, his own hands warm with life, and placed the hilt of a shining silver sword in his grasp. "It's yours," John had spoken, voice soft, before pressing a kiss upon Dave's pale knuckles.

"You are the Knight of Time, Dave."

The memories broke through hidden walls in his mind as soon as those words were spoken, the name and title bringing forth a warmth of acknowledgment in his chest. Darkness swallowed him as he remembered more of who he was and what he was, of what it is that he had to do, of his name, of his title, of his life.

_Time lives._

Through it all, John had held his hand, called to him when he'd woken from his momentary slumber, reminded him of who he was and is. John, the Heir of Breath, the prince of Life and his friend. His own title made his existence tedious, the passive work Dave had grown accustomed to eventually being a far cry from John's restless activity as he flitted from place to place, breathing life into newborns and refitted vessels.

He is Life itself, the Giver of souls, the god of new beings. He is a beautiful lie to the ill, a painful truth to the young, and he is all that Dave can never have. He is the air that cannot be grasped, cannot be tied down, cannot be owned because Life has no master.

And frankly? Dave is perfectly fine with that.

 

\-----

 

"You never ask me anything," Dave says one day, long and bony fingers stroking dark brown locks as John's head lies on his lap. Dave has become accustomed to the soothing sounds of ticking clocks, which is a relief- had he not grown used to it, he'd have gone insane. "About who I am. I'm not saying that it's a bad thing, y'know, I'm just saying that- well, you gotta give a man the chance to talk about himself. Not like there's anyone else I can talk to, what with only you being the only thing I see besides these clocks. Couldn't the woman herself thought to have given me a prettier friend?" He laughs when John slaps at his arm, and none too gently at that. "Kidding, kidding. You're still pretty, John."

"I know I am," John scoffs, the unamused expression staying for a moment, before fading into a smile. Dave wonders if the sky is as blue as John's eyes. "And I don't need to ask you anything."

Dave cocks his head in question, the motion of his fingers on John's hair coming to a standstill. "Why not?"

John grins. It's the first time Dave notices how he's smiling back. "Because I don't. Just trust me on that."

Dave raises an eyebrow, subtly sliding a hand up to touch at the corner of his lips as he looks down at John. "Okay," he says, using his other hand to idly trace circles on John's temple.

He doesn't need to know everything. Not with John.

 

\-----------

 

"Why do you always come back?"

John turns away from the clock ticking with unusual slowness, an eyebrow raised as he regards Dave. "Hey, I appreciate your company and all," Dave immediately amends, "actually, scratch that- I'm so grateful I may as well do a piroutte off my sword's fucking handle for you if you asked. But you're," Dave gestures with a roll of his hand and furrowing eyebrows, "you're the Heir of Breath. You literally give life to everyone- you _are_ Life. I'm a damn interesting person, just as interesting as the supernatural is to the meatsacks ("Dave, they're _humans!_ "), but I don't think you're the type who likes his men being mysterious. I am totally not trying to look self-deprecating here, but there's a fucking window right up there and I can't even get out through that. Only you can. If that's not sad and pathetic, I don't know what is."

John laughs. Dave is reminded that his sanity is maintained through his daily dosage of John's voice. "Shut up! You don't even really believe that you're pathetic. Also, you are _far_ from being mysterious, Dave. Sorry to burst your bubble." Dave responds with a hurt look and a hand clutching at his chest. "Stop being a drama queen, it doesn't suit you," John huffs with a roll of his eyes. "I always come back because you're you."

"That's so romantic."

"Oh, hey, what's this?" John reaches into one of the tiny pouches hanging around his waist, before pulling his hand up to show Dave his closed fist, barring his middle finger. Dave laughs at the gesture, and John shakes his head before letting his hand hang by his side once more. "I'm serious here, Dave."

"A man can't be too sure, not when you're the 'certified prankmaster'."

"Okay, yes, I concede to that point." John sighs, fiddling with one of his pouches. "But I am very serious. I warn you, this is gonna be a huge hit to your ego- but yeah, you are a pretty cool guy and there's no one else out there who's like you. Who the fuck could even try to imitate _Time?_ "

"You said that I'm cool," Dave chirrups.

John barely hides a snort of laughter. "Of course that's what you'd pick up, Dave."

 

\----------

 

"What's it like, being outside?" Dave asks, his sword lying on his right with John lying on his left. "What do clouds feel like, when you touch them? Do you feel the cold? The heat?"

"You ask too many questions," John groans, staring up at the ceiling, before turning his head to look at Dave's face across from his. "The clouds are pretty much just air. They're not like cotton candy. And yeah, I can feel the temperature- though not as much as humans can feel them, I think."

"Do you ever think I'll have a shot at seeing everything for myself?" Dave asks again, turning his gaze away from John in favor of idly staring at the ceiling. He misses the odd glint in John's blue eyes, the downward curl of his lips when he'd spoken. (He wouldn't understand what it meant if he'd seen it, either way.)

"I don't know," John says, and Dave nods.

They both know that he can't leave, but they don't say it.

It wouldn't change anything.

 

\------

 

It takes centuries (which, really, only seems like minutes in Dave's world) before Dave notices the heap of assorted junk in a corner of his chamber.

"Are you _nesting?_ " He asks John as soon as he appears, to which the brunet responds with furrowed brows. "Fuck, John, are you _pregnant?_ "

"What the hell? No!" John makes a face at him, before throwing a blanket over the heap and settling himself against it.

"What do you call that, then?" Dave says as he steps closer, gesturing wildly with one hand to the pile. "A love nest? John, are you trying to seduce me? Shit, you could have just told me instead of going through all the trouble."

"Shut up," John snaps, before reaching out to grab Dave's wrist and tugging him down until they're both leaning against the blanket that John had just laid on the pile. He frowns as he tries to tug out another blanket from the center of the pile, before grinning once he manages to pull it out neatly. He immediately settles it on both of their laps, patting his own portion down until it's straightened out. "This isn't nesting, this is me making a claim on this part of your chamber."

"Oh wow, rude," Dave huffs, letting John throw the other end of the blanket on his lap, before he settles into it with a wiggle of his hips. "This is my chamber, and you're staking a claim on a portion of it? Hell no to this, John. I do not concur on this unwritten deal."

"Too late, this pile is mine now," John calls out, voice echoing around the chamber, before he turns around and hugs what he can of the pile. "And since you're part of it, you're mine now too," he states matter-of-factly, before turning back around and slinging an arm around Dave's shoulders.

"Oh, I'm all yours, John," Dave drawls, rolling his eyes.

He doesn't notice the tightening of John's grip around his shoulders, and neither does John.

(It's better this way.)

 

\------

 

It's the middle of the twentieth century on Earth when Dave dies.

John knows the sign. The clock tower has stopped in its counting, the hour-hand and minute-hand still as he enters through the lone window of Dave's chamber. John had known that it would happen eventually, that Dave would be taken, but it doesn't make the reality of it hurt any less. Not when Dave is so pale, skin so cold when John touches his cheek and settles his head on his lap. John knows without seeing Dave's unmoving chest that his soul is gone.

It isn't any better than the times he had found Dave dead because he had stabbed himself in the chest, or when he had used a gun and shot himself through the throat. (John knew better than to bring any weapons on him, now. But Dave's sword is irremovable, because it is a part of him. John hates it.)

Dave had asked whilst gesturing to the space between the two of them, " _Is there something here?_ "

John had told him, " _Does it need to be said?_ "

Yet Dave will never know. Dave will never truly understand what John is willing to do for him, what sacrifices he is willing to make just for him. Because Dave is special. Dave is his, although Dave never knows that.

John kisses him.

The effects of the breath of life aren't instantaneous, not when Dave isn't human. He is Time embodied, and it takes far longer than mere seconds or minutes for his soul to return.

But he lives again, eventually. Dave always does.

 

\------

 

This isn't the first time that John has brought him back.

It won't be the last time either.


End file.
